


Stars Aligned

by hannwrites



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Canon Retelling, Character Study, basically just want to tell my ocs story lol, dragon age retelling, surana origin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 14:10:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16766683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannwrites/pseuds/hannwrites
Summary: Castor Surana is a young mage, thrust into a world shattering conflict.--This is my retelling of the events of Dragon Age: Origins, from the point of view of my OC. It's mainly a character study, and only consists of the origin right now, but I may eventually continue through the rest of the game.





	Stars Aligned

He woke with a start, being thrust out of his dreams by a touch on the shoulder. Jowan was looming over him. His anxious frown was as familiar as the dormitory they were in and the bed he was lying on (though he was usually on the top bunk). 

“Are you ok? Cas?”

He sat up, rubbing his eyes. He felt as if his head had been stuffed with cotton, and the shifting shapes of the fade were still lingering on the backs of his eyelids. Jowan was fussing over him. “Please say something,” he had one hand on Castor’s shoulder still.

“I’m fine Jowan, shush,” His tone was a little harsh, but Jowan knew him. He didn’t have to soften himself or pretend to be anything. He shifted to sit on the edge of the bed. One hand still rubbed furiously at his eyes, “Just give me a chance to wake up.”

“I’m glad you’re alright,” Jowan sat next to him, a little stiff. “I thought you were just late coming back from the library last night. I didn’t realize you had been taken for the harrowing until they carried you in this morning.”

“Mhm,” He had hardly expected to be stopped on his way back to the dorms last night either, having grown adept at making it to and from his bed without drawing much attention. It had sent a shock of fear through him to be stopped in the halls so late into the evening, he was sure he was going to be in trouble for cutting it so close to curfew. Though the reality was hardly better. 

“I’ve heard about apprentices who never come back from their Harrowing,” Jowan said softly, “Is it really that dangerous? What was it like? What did you have to do?”

It was terrible, and draining. His entire body felt weighed down by expense of it. And in the corner of his mind he could still feel that leftover twinge of fear that he despised. “We’re not really supposed to talk about it, right?” Castor said, a little sternly. They weren’t, it was one those ridiculous rules.

“I know, but we’re friends! Can’t you just give me a hint, I swear I’ll leave you alone if you do.” Jowan had a way of whispering that felt louder that his regular speaking voice. It was simultaneously endearing and grating to Castor.

Sighing, he leaned in close, motioning for Jowan to do the same. There was always somebody listening here. “I’ll tell you if you keep it to yourself,” he leaned into Jowan’s warmth just slightly.

“I won’t tell a soul, I promise,”

He tugged Jowan’s sleeve to bring him closer, to speak directly into his ear, “It’s a ritual.” He pushed away that fear he had woken up with, tried to sound distant from the whole thing. “Or rather, it’s a test. They make you face a demon, to see if you can resist.”

He drew back slightly. Jowan was quiet for a moment, the thoughtfulness on his face was entirely endearing. “Really?” he said, “That’s it? Was it hard?”

“Not for me,” he lied, “I doubt I’ll even remember by tomorrow, to be honest.”

“And now you get to move into the mages quarters upstairs. While I’m stuck down here. And I don’t know when they’ll call me for my Harrowing,” He sighed. There was more than a hint of bitterness, but Castor knew it wasn’t aimed at him. 

“Any day now, Jowan.” 

“I don’t know. I’ve been here longer than you have, sometimes I think they just don’t want to test me,” he pouted, but there was real concern in his voice

“Why wouldn’t they? I think you’d be a rather useless Tranquil,” Castor said. He was waking up a bit now but he spoke with his naturally unenthused voice, “You don’t have the work ethic.”

The joke didn’t land, of course. Jowan frowned, “Don’t say things like that. You know that’s exactly what I’m suggesting, why else would they be putting off my Harrowing? Either I go through my harrowing, become tranquil, or I die.”

“Stop being stupid, that’s not going to happen. You’re worrying too much.” He patted Jowan’s knee, a gesture he hoped would be interpreted as supportive despite the lack of kind words accompanying it. He had the good sense to feel foolish about it. Jowan was his only real friend, the only person he didn’t have to plaster a stupid smile on for. Jowan was the only person Castor really cared about. Not the way he cared about Irving’s ridiculous anecdotes in exchange for extra library privileges. He should probably try to be nicer.

He cared about Jowan more than he knew how to express. He felt foolish about that too, constantly. Not only because he had no idea what to do with all this unfamiliar emotion, though that was certainly a large part of the problem. He felt foolish because the concept of genuine affection was so unpracticed. It was one thing to put on a mask for other people; to laugh at a joke he didn’t think was funny or to profess some great respect that he didn’t really feel. Those were just pawns to be moved around the board at his will. But to experience something real, what was he supposed to do with that? Real affection, it wasn’t useful. 

“Can you imagine not feeling anything anymore? Never dreaming again?”

“I can’t,” Castor admitted.

“Well I think it’d be horrible!” he was still just a little too loud. “All I’m saying is there has to be a reason they’ve held me back for so long. When they think an apprentice is too dangerous or too weak to become a mage, they make them tranquil.”

“Yes and you’d definitely fall into the dangerous category, right?”

“Oh you’re hilarious today,” Jowan didn’t laugh, but Castor could tell this quib didn’t hit the same sore spot as the first one. 

“I just don’t think tranquility is something we have to worry about,” Castor put more effort into sounding reassuring this time.

“Not something you have to worry about at least, now that you’ve passed your harrowing,” Jowan sighed again, trailing off. They sat quietly for a moment before he spoke again, “I was supposed to tell you to see Irving as soon as you woke up.”

“It’s a good thing you did that instead of talking my ear off about your conspiracy theories then,” he said. Jowan finally laughed, a little tiredly, and Castor felt a swell fo satisfaction. 

When he stood, his legs felt weak from the exhaustion of the night before. But he said goodbye to his friend and made his way up the tower to the first enchanter.

———

He knew the layout of the tower like the back of his hand. He knew all of the templar’s schedules and which ways to walk to avoid the ones who were less than friendly. He knew the best time to walk through a certain part of the library to see the most sunlight shine through the tiny slits of windows near the high ceilings, and when the library would be at its emptiest and quietest.

He also knew the quickest way to Irving’s office, and decided to go a different way. He wandered through the libraries, making his rounds with all the older mages, listening in on classes and conversations. There were a few templars he knew by name that he could depend upon to be accidental informants if he smiled sweetly enough or looked at them one way or another, though he knew that was a dangerous field to play. It was as important as ever to stay in everyone’s good books, regardless of whether he was an apprentice or a mage.

There were a few who he found entertaining, if nothing else. Niall and Torrin were engrossed in a political debate, as always. Castor knew well enough to avoid getting to deep into that discussion, but they were interesting to listen to. Senior Enchanter Leorah was usually a productive stop to make, as she was particularly fond of him after the favour he had done her, clearing out some spiders in her storeroom, and he found her practical attitude easy to contend with. 

Castor was starting the feel the lack of sleep setting in by the time he did eventually make it to Irving’s office, wearing his biggest and friendliest smile for the First Enchanter. He was surprised to see that Irving was not the only figure waiting for him there. Greagoir was not surprising to see, it was not unusual to catch him bickering with Irving over one thing or another. It was the third figure who caught Castor’s eye. There was nobody in the tower that he didn’t know, save some of the newer children who hadn’t become important enough yet. But he had never seen this man in his life. He was older, not near Irving’s age but grey hair peppered his temples and beard giving him an air of maturity. He looked travel-worn and tired, but handsome. There was also a confidence to him that was instantly apparent to Castor. He smiled a little wider.

It was the stranger who noticed him first, cutting off the argument Irving and Greagoir were deeply engaged in. “Gentleman, please. Irving, I think someone is here to see you.”

Castor stepped a little further into the office, “First Enchanter? You asked to see me?”

“If it isn’t our new brother in the Circle! I did, child, come in,” He gestured. Irving himself was in his senior years. His white unkept beard was his most defining feature, though Castor associated him more with being insufferably wishy-washy. He had considered winning Irving’s attention an invaluable asset until he realized just how little influence the old man really had within the tower. Now it was only frustrating to see how often Irving struggled in vain against the Chantry’s dominion, and how often he didn’t. Castor couldn’t help but wonder if that’s all that was at the top of the ladder he was trying to climb. 

“This is…?” The stranger began.

“Yes, this is he,” Irving confirmed.

From behind them, Greagoir huffed, “Well, Irving, you’re obviously busy. We’ll continue this discussion later.” Irving hardly paid the Knight Commander any mind as the he exited the office.

“Child, this is Duncan, of the Grey Wardens,” Irving motioned to the stranger. 

Castor bowed slightly, interests piqued, “A grey warden here in the tower? It’s an honour to meet you, ser.”

Irving continued, “You’ve heard about the war brewing in the south, I expect?” Castor had heard what wisps of news made it through the tower’s walls. “Duncan is recruiting mages to join the king’s army at Ostagar.” There was an explanation there, for sure, and perhaps more.

“Mages are uniquely equipped to combat darkspawn, Your spells are very effective against large groups,” Duncan explained. Speaking to him now, Castor could see that he wore a solemn expression; when he spoke there was a hint of severity to him “I fear if we don’t drive them back, we’ll see another Blight.”

“Duncan, you worry the poor lad with talk of Blights and darkspawn!” Irving was patting Duncan’s shoulder now, as if to settle him, “This is a happy day for young Castor.”

“We live in troubled times, my friend,” Duncan insisted, maintaining eye contact with Castor for a moment longer before turning to Irving.

“All the more reason to seize moments of levity, when they come our way,” Irving directed his attention back to Castor, “The Harrowing is behind you, and you phylactery was sent to Denerim this morning. You are officially a Mage within the circle of Magi.

It was an accomplishment to be sure, though Castor suspected he was not the only mage for whom it hardly felt like a triumph. His position, in the grand scheme of things, was no better than it had been yesterday. It was the same cage, regardless of where he sat in it. And just the mention of his phylactery made him cringe inwardly. But despite all this he smiled and nodded, “Thank you, First Enchanter.”

“I’m sorry, what is this phylactery?” Duncan questioned. Castor wasn’t sure if he imagined the slightest bit of disapproval on Duncan’s face as it was explained to him. Regardless of how the Chantry wanted to dress it up, the use of phylacteries were blood magic. The hypocrisy was as plain as day. Blood magic was evil, unless it was being used to hunt mages.

Castor was presented with new robes to signify his new status within the tower, as well as a staff and signet ring. “Wear them proudly,” Irving said, “You’ve earned them.”

This was all as unsatisfactory as the First Enchanter’s congratulations. “Thank you, First Enchanter,” he said again.

“I’m sure you’re quite tired from your eventful night. Take your time to rest, child, the day is yours.” He was being dismissed.

“I believe I’ll return to my quarters,” Duncan said, sensing the conversation was coming to a close.

“Would you be so kind as to escort Duncan back to his room, child?” It was a harmless request, but Castor sensed a plan in the works. Or at least the idea of a plan. It could not be a coincidence that they were discussing him before, and now he was being asked to do this.

“It would be my pleasure,” Castor bowed again, “Right this way, ser.”

———

They did not speak much on the walk from Irving’s office to the guest quarters, Castor saved his questions for what little privacy Duncan’s chambers would allow. It was not often he was given a chance to hear about the outside world, it was not an opportunity he would pass up. Duncan thanked him for the escort, stepping into his room. Castor found himself taking half a step in after him, “Ser?”

“Is there something else I can do for you?” Duncan arched one brow.

“I was hoping you could tell me more about Fereldan, and what’s happening outside the tower? And about the Grey Wardens, if you aren’t too tired.” Castor made his voice steady, respectful, though his curiosity was eating him up. This was the most exciting thing to happen to him in months, save the Harrowing.

He found Duncan to be a willing conversationalist, though his scope of knowledge was limited by his focus on his duties. He was driven, which Castor found refreshing, and his views on magic and the circles would have made a chantry sister gasp. Castor refrained from sharing too much of his own opinion, but listened intently. Duncan’s description of the Grey Wardens seemed idealistic, like a fantasy. He spoke of a unity between all races and backgrounds for the common good, elves included. It was a little far-fetched for Castor, though entertaining. There were very few people in the circle who professed such a passion for anything, at least of those Castor took seriously.

Duncan stressed the importance of recruiting more mages into the royal army, the matter that Irving and Greagoir had been discussing earlier. It was his wish to bring more mages to the front, as Irving had mentioned, but the templars were hindering the process. Castor didn’t know many regular people, aside from the templars, but he knew acceptance of mages was not a common belief. It elevated Duncan in his mind, to some extent.

“You don’t think it’s dangerous? Having so many mages unsupervised?”

“The darkspawn are a greater threat than any blood mage or abomination,” Duncan insisted. “We need our resources to exceed that of the horde.”

“And beyond that?” Castor prompted.

“I believe we must defeat the darkspawn, one way or another. My opinions end there.”

———

When Castor was finally alone in his new chambers he let himself breathe. He felt as if he could sleep through the rest of the day until tomorrow afternoon. His new living space was nice. It wasn’t completely private, there were a few mages to each chamber, but it was a vast improvement from the apprentices dormitory. And it was empty now, which was nice. There was space to keep his own books, a softer looking bed than he was used to, and a vanity. 

He caught himself in the mirror; black hair a little unkept for how he liked it, ears prominent as ever. He looked pallid, even for his usual complexion, and the bags under his eyes were more prominent than usual. He would benefit from some rest, as Irving had suggested. His eyes traced over the scar through his right brow, his reminder of what happens when you play the game wrong.

He had barely closed his eyes when a quick rap on the door had them open again. Unsure, he opened it slightly. On the other side Jowan stood, wringing his hands and shifting from foot to foot. “Are you done talking to Irving? Do you have some time?”

Castor opened the door a little wider, leaning against the frame. “What’s wrong Jowan? Going through another personal crisis?”

“Very funny,” Jowan stepped closer, whispering urgently, “I need to talk to you, about this morning.” 

“About the Harrowing?”

“Yes, mine in particular. Do you remember what I was saying about it?”

“Of course I do… Jowan do you want to come in?”

“No,” he was looking up and down the halls now, the anxiety plain on his face. “We should go somewhere else, I don’t feel safe talking here.”

“Jowan, you’re really starting to worry me now.” This was beyond any levels of paranoia that he had come to expect from his friend.

“Just come with me, please,” Jowan insisted. He led them through the halls, his long strides causing him to move quickly and suspiciously. Jowan didn’t slow until they reached the tower’s chapel. It wasn’t empty. It rarely was. But more concerning was the fact that Jowan led them right up to a sister, before turning to face him again. “We should be safe here.”

“Yes, completely, ignoring the priest standing right next to us,” This was getting more confusing and concerning as it went on.

She spoke up, “I’m not a priest yet, I’m nearly an initiate.”

Castor ignored her. ‘What’s this about Jowan?”

“Do you remember a few months ago, I told you I had met a girl?” His voice was shaky. “This is Lily.”

He had mentioned her, once, though Castor had half expected it to be a joke. Maybe it had been wishful thinking. Or at least, he had though, it was another mage that Jowan had been seeing. Facing the truth of it sent a stab of pain through his heart. And a chantry initiate was far worse than Castor could have anticipated. He was at a loss for words. “What’s this about?” he repeated.

“It’s just like I said, Castor, they’re going to make me tranquil,” he was barely whispering, his words accented with fear, “Lily has proof.”

“What proof?”

“I saw the document on Greagoir’s table. It authorized the Rite on Jowan, and Irving has already signed it,” she explained.

“They’re going to strip me of everything I am!” Jowan was shaking, “I’ll be a husk! I’ll never feel anything again, they’re going to take it all away. They’ll take away my emotions, my dreams, everything that makes me who I am. They’ll take away my love for Lily!”

Castor could hear a ringing in his ears. He shook his head, “This doesn’t even make any sense Jowan, why would they do this to you?”

“There’s a rumour about me, they think I’m a blood mage. That I’m dangerous.”

“Are they right about that?” Castor snapped.

“Of course not, how could you even ask me that?” Jowan was incredulous, and shaking slightly. Lily placed a hand on his arm, and he lowered his voice. “The point is that I can’t stay here anymore. I need to get my phylactery and get as far away from here as possible. Lily and I are going to run away.”

“But we need your help,” Lily interjected, “give us your word that you’ll help us and we will tell you what we intend.”

“Why not just talk to Irving? Jowan, we can clear all of this up,” It seemed reasonable enough.

“Then Lily will be punished!” That was the least of Castor’s concerns. “Please, Cas, if you care about what happens to me you’ll help,” Jowan was pleading now. The pain in Castor’s heart twisted along with his frustration and fatigue.

The audacity was unfathomable, for them to put him in this position. For Jowan to question whether or not Castor even cared. Castor felt an unbridled flash of hatred towards the sister. He could feel his blood boiling under his skin, as he tried to calm himself. “I need to think about this,” he managed. “This is a lot to dump on me. If this is all true there’s a lot at stake here, and not just for you.”

Lily nodded solemnly, “I suppose that’s fair. But please hurry. We don’t have much time.”

Castor left, not bothering to respond to her plea. To his annoyance, the mage’s dormitory was no longer empty, and he struggled in vain to find a quiet spot in the library to think. It was the middle of the afternoon now, though it felt like a years worth of trouble had been packed into less than 24 hours. He found himself thinking for what felt like the hundredth time that he was unimaginably tired. With the absence of any privacy in the entire tower, he walked the halls, cursing the tower and the templars, even Jowan.

Jowan. How could he be so reckless, so stupid? Risking everything, for what? For some stranger. And to ask Castor to help them pull off something so reckless, knowing how relentlessly he had worked to make something of himself in this fucking tower. After everything they had shared. Jowan was really just going to leave him now?

Jowan was too stupid to see an easier way out of this, Castor thought, too caught up in his own feelings to see what had to be done. He would fix this. He would get them out of this mess, like he always did, his head being the only one not up in the clouds. He knew best.

Castor found himself outside of Irving’s office again. Irving was alone this time, sitting at his desk. Castor knew the old man, and believed in his own ability to sort through all of this. He would explain the situation to Irving and the First Enchanter would praise him for being sensible enough for coming to him, maybe thank him for helping the circle to avert such a mistake. Lily might get in trouble but Jowan would be off the hook, and he’d get over it. They’d still have each other. “First Enchanter?” He poked his head into the office. “Do you have a moment?”

“Of course child, come in,” as Castor approached Irving he took a quick glance across the desk between him. A book caught his eye, Blood Magic: The Forbidden School. His mind wandered briefly. “I was hoping you’d come back to see me. I suspect everything went well with Ser Duncan?”

He snapped back to reality, “Yes, it was an honour to meet him. He was incredibly interesting.”

“Good, good,” Irving leaned back in his chair. “It’s good to have friends outside of this tower, when possible. Remember that.”

“I agree, First Enchanter,” He had to speak now before he lost his nerve, “Actually, I came to talk to you about something else. About Jowan’s Harrowing actually.”

“You know as well as I that we don’t discuss the Harrowing.”

“Jowan is worried that he’s going to be made tranquil.”

Irving seemed to nod thoughtfully for a moment, his face solemn, “And where has he gotten this idea? I suppose from the initiate he dallies with.” His old crackling voice was slow and careful. “You look shocked. Do you think I became First Enchanter by keeping my eyes and ears shut? Or did you just think you were the first to discover such a concept?”

Castor was nearly frozen, he hadn’t expected Irving to already know, putting him at a disadvantage. And there was a critical tone to the older man’s voice that he had never heard directed at him. “Yes, it was the initiate,” he reminded himself that he didn’t care what happened to Lily. “She told him that Greagoir has called for the Rite. First Enchanter, I think there’s been a mistake-“

Irving cut him off, stern but not unkind, “This is not information I am at liberty to give you, but know that the Knight Enchanter has evidence; an eye witness. This Rite of Tranquility will come to pass. It is best you put it out of your mind. You know how damaging it can be to get tied up in these affairs.”

This wasn’t at all how the conversation was supposed to go. He was supposed to make a case for Jowan, the First Enchanter was supposed to listen to him. Castor’s frustration, still barely contained from before, bubbled forward again, causing his mask to slip, “Greagoir hates the lot of us, he’d say anything to-“

“Enough.” The sharp interjection shocked Castor back into place. “I will not have you speaking ill of my- of our colleague. That is not how we do things. You know better than this.”

This was a First Enchanter he didn’t know, not the one who who Castor had seemed so easy to mold all this time. All at once the lines between pawn and player seemed very blurry, and a sense of powerlessness washed over him. He was so far from the top of this tower.

When Castor failed to respond, Irving continued. His voice softened again, but retained a hint of that unfamiliar reproach, “Now child, I expect the two did not come to you expecting nothing in return?”

Castor stared, defeated. Teeth grinding. He knew all at once that he had just offered himself up, without a leg to stand on. All he could do now was make the best of this. “No, First Enchanter.”

“I suspected not. You’ll tell me what you know now.”

What choice did he have now. He explained what he knew, deadpan.

Irving nodded again, standing up from his desk and making half a turn around his office. “Recklessness. Needless,” Irving’s voice trailed off and there was a moment of painful silence. When he finally turned back to Castor he said, “We must ensure that the initiate is also implicated. Greagoir will never punish one of his own without unquestionable proof.”

“First Enchanter?” He was so tired.

“You’ll do whatever it is they ask of you. Help them take the phylactery. We will catch them in the act, then the Chantry will be forced to take responsibility for their part. If we are going to lose one of ours, the chantry sister can not make it out of this unscathed.” He was stroking his beard now, “Do this for me Castor.”

All the the reckless anger was gone now, that had driven him to approach Irving at all. Now he was just empty. He looked to his feet. He was backed into a corner now, completely at the mercy of circle politics. Just a piece in a plan, in the war between Irving and Greagoir. Perhaps not the pawn to be sacrificed, there were others for that. Not a knight either. Maybe he was a rook.

“We must learn where to take a stand, where to take our victories.” Irving’s hand was on Castor’s shoulder now, mirroring his pose from the night before. “We always have our mind, our will. They cannot take our choices from us.”

He headed right for the chapel after leaving Irving’s office. He breathed deeply, put on a face, and entered.

———

It had been painfully easy to set everything in motion. All they had needed from him was his newly earned privileges as a mage, to acquire a rod of fire. He did what they asked. Everything else was done. They planned to act tonight. Castor didn’t tell them of his conversation with the First Enchanter, obviously. There was nothing to gain from it, if Irving was to be believed. All he could do now was preserve his own standing with Irving. He felt very small.

After assuring Lily that they would meet after curfew, Castor walked Jowan back to the apprentice dormitory. They were silent for most of it, until they were nearly there. “I know this is especially risky for you,” Jowan said finally, “Lily and I, we really appreciate what you’re doing.”

Castor didn’t say anything. Guilt was just as useless as the rest of the emotional scope, at this point. That didn’t stop it from pressing on his chest, making it hard to breathe.

Jowan continued, “And I just want you to know that I think you’re a good friend. If we never meet again after tonight, I want you to know that you’ll always be my brother. I’ll never forget what you’re doing for us.”

“Was I ever anything more than that?” The words slipped out before he could stop himself. And why not? By midnight tonight he wouldn’t be anything to Jowan anymore. There was already nothing left to lose. 

“What do you mean?” Jowan knit his brows, a look of concern passing over over his face.

“Was there ever a time when you thought we could be more than friends?”

“Cas,” Jowan frowned, “You’ve always been like a brother to me. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, it’s fine,” His heart sunk even further. “I was just curious, that’s all.”

———

He managed to get a couple hours of restless sleep, waking with a pit in his stomach. Sneaking out of his chambers and past the templars was second nature to him at this point. When he reached the door to the basement and slipped inside he found Jowan and Lily already waiting for him there.

Other than a small hiccup and a resulting detour, everything went smoothly. The animated suits of armour the Chantry had placed as a defence were easily dealt with, and before long they found themselves in the phylactery chamber. Castor couldn’t help but wonder if they could have pulled the whole plan off if he hadn’t given them up to Irving.

The chamber was frigid. He focused on his breath materializing in the cold air and stood aside as Jowan and Lily searched through the labeled vials of blood for Jowan’s phylactery. They chatted while they searched, to Castor’s grief and annoyance, about all their plans once they escaped. Jowan was animated, oozing with excitement at the prospect of seeing a sunrise, of being able to make his own schedule, of getting to go where he wanted. “It’s such a shame,” he said, “that they’ve sent your phylactery to Denerim” Otherwise you could come with us”. Castor trembled, perhaps because of the cold, thinking of how much he wanted that. It wasn’t a thought he usually let himself dwell on. It was dangerous to hope. Allowing that for Jowan was perhaps the worst aspect of his betrayal. He had never felt regret like this, and for a moment he considered coming clean to Jowan, for all the good it would do. 

“I found it,” Jowan gasped, ripping Castor from his thoughts. “Maker… here it is. I can’t believe this tiny vial is all that stands between me and freedom.” He spoke quietly to himself before letting the phylactery slip through his fingers, shattering on the stone ground. He turned to Castor, a smile of relief stretched across his face, “I’m free.”

“Jowan I need to tell you something,” Castor thought he might be sick.

“Uh? Sure, but we should probably get out of here first.” He began to walk past Castor to the exit, Lily close beside him.

“I need to tell you that I told Irving everything.”

Jowan froze at the door before turning to look at Castor, “You what?”

“I- I’m so sorry Jowan,” he could hardly breathe now.

“Why would you do that? Castor, I thought we were friends!”

“We are! I was trying to help and it all got out of han-“

He had never seen Jowan angry like this, his voice shaking with rage and pain was clearly painted across his face. Castor could hardly get a word in between bouts of frantic questions. “Why? Why are you even here? Why would you lie make us think you were helping us?”

“Irving made me-“

“He made you? Don’t you have a mind of your own? For all your talk about playing their stupid games-“

Lily rested a hand on Jowan’s arm, “Jowan we should go, we might still have a chance to get away.”

Castor shook his head moving towards the door frame to halt them, “They’ll be waiting for you. If you just give me a second I can think of a way to fix this.”

“You’ve done enough fixing!” Jowan pushed past him roughly with Lily in tow, “Just leave us alone!”

Castor hurried out after them. When they reached the exit from the basement and ascended the stairs, Irving and Greagoir were already there with a handful of templars, as Castor had warned. “Maker…” He heard Lily whisper, and Jowan put a protective arm out in front of her.

Greagoir spoke first as he took a couple of steps towards them, “An initiate conspiring with a blood mage. I’m disappointed, Lily.” He turned back to Irving, “She seems shaken, but fully in control of her own mind. Not a thrall of the blood mage then. You were right Irving, this won’t go unpunished.”

Lily let out a small cry, and Jowan took a step back. From behind, Castor watched them both tense. Greagoir and Irving exchanged a few words, too quiet for Castor to hear, before they finally turned their attention to him. “And here is your lackey who so efficiently delivered these miscreants into our hands. Your plan worked, after all.” Castor didn’t speak.

“It would seem so,” Irving said, “I am sorry to see it come to this. The Circle of Magi will feel this loss.”

“You don’t care for the mages,” Jowan shouted, “You just bow to the Chantry’s every whim.”

“Enough!” Greagoir bellowed. “As Knight Commander of this Circle, I sentence this blood mage to death. Seize him immediately. And this initiate has scorned the Chantry and her vows. Take her to Aeonar.”

“The mage’s prison?” Lily began to back down the stairs as a circle of templars closed in on them.

“No!” Jowan produced a dagger from his sleeve, “I won’t let you touch her!” Before anyone else could act he slashed down, cutting through his palm. Blood pooled in the air in front of him and in a flood of darkness, expanded outward. Castor’s vision went black.

———

When Castor woke the first thing he heard was the sound of Lily sobbing. It only took him a moment to understand that Jowan had escaped, and that Lily, shocked by the display of blood magic, had not gone with him. Irving and Greagoir were discussing, the templar with his usual heated tone. The the templars who had made it back to their feet were taking Lily away. No one had even looked Castor’s way, and he propped himself up against the wall, stiff from the blow. “… to overcome so many, I never thought him capable of such power,” Greagoir was saying.

“None of us expected this, are you alright?”

“As good as can be expected, if you had let me act sooner none of this would have happened!” Greagoir was waving his hands wildly about as Irving crossed his arms. Castor knew this meant they were really going to get into it, and he let his exhaustion overtake him to some degree. He closed his eyes and let it fade into background noise. They argued for what felt like ages, over who was right and how they would find Jowan, before Greagoir finally acknowledged him. “And you! Your antics have made a mockery of this Circle, what are we to do with you?”

Castor opened his eyes and eased to his feet, trying to regain some sense of control over his mind. “I was only acting on the First Enchanter’s orders.”

“And you think that excuses you? The phylactery chamber is forbidden to all save you and me! We don’t know how much influence the blood mage has had on him.”

Castor looked to Irving, brows furrowed. Here would be the ideal time for the First Enchanter to step in, to speak up. When nothing was said, the panic really started to set in. He hadn’t really thought about losing until now.

“Knight-commander,” somebody said, breaking the suffocating silence. Duncan stepped up behind Castor, placing both hands on his shoulders. “If I may make a suggestion, I’m not only looking for mages for the front, the Grey Warden’s are also looking to recruit. Irving has spoken highly of this young mage and I’d like him to join my ranks.”

“What? You’ve promised him a new Grey Warden, Irving?”

“He has served the circle well.”

“And,” Duncan added, “We look for dedication in our recruits.”

The three of them argued in circles, Castor standing between them. Knowing his opinion had no weight in this discussion, he finally felt the insignificance of his own standing. He would be passed around from one prison to the next; the tower, Aeonar, the wardens, and his wants meant nothing.

He thought they would go on forever when Duncan finally landed a finishing blow. “As you know, Greagoir, the Wardens maintain the right to conscript whoever we please. I am taking this young mage with me.” Greagoir sputtered for a moment, having nothing to retort with. “I will take him under my wing,” Duncan assured, “and bear all responsibility for his actions.”

It was settled, as Duncan showed he could not be argued with. As Duncan began to lead Castor out of the chamber, Irving matched stride with him for a brief moment. In a tone Castor couldn’t understand he said, “You have an opportunity few even dream of, do not squander it.”

Castor had next to no personal belongings save, and it took him only a few moments to pack them. At Duncan’s insistence they planned to leave immediately, and gathering his things they headed down the winding steps of the tower. As they approached the final set of doors and the templars on duty there, Castor expected them to draw their swords, to prevent him from leaving. Instead, they nodded to Duncan as he passed through them, and Castor followed Duncan outside.

The first thing that hit him as he stepped outside was the air. It was a fresh in a way that he hadn’t realized he had been missing. They boarded the boat and began to make their way across the lake surrounding the tower, and as the boat moved across the waters the sun began to rise, setting the world around the boat in a blazing red light. It was beautiful.

Castor hoped, wherever he was, that Jowan was seeing this too.


End file.
